


A Court of Wildness and Ice

by bessmertny



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, nessian book 3, oh well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-09-03 02:32:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8692945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bessmertny/pseuds/bessmertny
Summary: A fanfiction book 3 with Cassian and Nesta.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank u to http://archiveofourown.org/users/silverscream/pseuds/silverscream for the awesome beta-ing! ILY!

Cassian’s been drifting in and out of consciousness for something that feels like seconds, hours, days.  
Sometimes, it is the sound of screams, _her_ screams, that wakes him, sometimes it is Azriel’s blood and the sound it makes as it hits the floor.  
Sometimes, it is the sound of bone breaking after bone, his wings shredding, the sound of a scream he doesn’t recognize, a white blast of magic, the water in his lungs.  
  
He’s lying on his stomach, has been for days, and the familiar weight on his back is, is-is _less_ , the white walls are closing in on him every time he opens his eyes and he knows he doesn’t feel pain only because the healers gave him some kind of concoction, but the pain will come and as he feels the phantom of the blast that engulfed him in that damned room he can’t help but think-  
  
_his wings, his wings, his wings_  
  
he wants the pain, wants to know that this is real, wants to have the courage to turn around and see what’s left of him, wants to hear the song of the wind and let it destroy him.  
  
But he doesn’t move, doesn’t open his eyes, he can’t. How could he.  
  
He let her die.  
  
He promised, he promised, he had moved to her, he couldn’t stop himself, had brushed a tear from her lovely face and promised, promised to protect her, he looked at her and said those words and they were true and they were booming in his head when her heart stopped beating and Mother help him, the absence of that sound was devastating and in that moment, in that moment he was aware of only her, of her screams, her rage and despair flowing through him and he wanted to-wanted to protect her, shield her, reassure her and he failed and failed and failed.  
  
“Cassian.”  
  
Rhysand’s voice resonates in the room, a hollow sound.  
He remembers Feyre, the sacrifice she made.  
  
Cassian breathes through his mouth and turns to his brother and sees the sadness, the guilt and he can’t think of a single thing to make this better.  
  
“How long?” he asks, his voice rasping at his throat.  
“Ten days.”  
There’s no humor, no snarky comment about him sleeping or pretending to sleep for so long.  
Cassian hums, waits for the words to come out of Rhysand’s mouth, waits and trembles.  
“The healers still don’t know what will happen. The membrane is completely absent in some points but there’s a slight hope it will knit itself together.”  
Cassian struggles to breathe, to push the air into his lungs.  
_  
_

_Hope, there’s hope._

  
“Az?”  
  
“He’s fine, still recovering, but it gets better every day. He’s worried for you.”  
Cassian feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest at these words and he wants to laugh at them, make a comment to dissipate the heaviness in the room, but the air feels like ice on his tongue and-  
  
“She’s in the cabin. That’s why you can’t scent her,” a blow to his heart would hurt less than Rhysand’s words.  
  
_Her_  
_She_  
_N-_  
  
He still can’t breathe through his nose, scenting everyone except her because he failed and she’s away and she’s never going to look at him again because he let her die, let them put her under, he let the water go in her lungs, and he had felt it, felt every gulp she had taken of that damned water, had felt her fighting, had felt as her breathing got faster and faster and then stopped, felt as his promise went taut and stilled and he didn’t keep it, and _what is a male, an Illyrian, without his wings, what is he if he can’t fly and keep his promises, what-_  
  
what is he?  
  
“Cassian.” he hears his name, Rhysand’s voice, in his own mind, and he didn’t even notice that the shield in his mind went down, but he doesn’t care.  
  
He looks at his brother, and sees as Rhysand smiles, the tiniest movement of his lips, a little show of hope that Cassian is sure his brother doesn’t feel.  
  
“We can do this, Feyre will bring them down. And you, you stubborn bastard, will get to see it, all in one piece.”  
  
Cassian returns the smile, even if every movement of his lips screams the lie, because he doesn’t want to smile, he’s scared, he’s never been so fucking scared in his entire life, he wants to cry, to scream, to rage at everything, but he smiles. For his brother, he will do this.  
  
“Of course we can.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Out, out, out._  
Out of this place, out of this skin, out of this monster, _out, out, out_.  
  
“Nesta, the food is on the table. Are you hungry?” Elain’s soft voice drills into Nesta’s skull, the sound louder, sharper, but so gentle it cuts Nesta’s heart up like a blade  
  
 _Elain, Elain, Elain_  
  
“No, I’m not hungry.” she wants to scream, scream at Elain’s softness  
  
 _why aren’t you angry, why are you accepting this, why did you keep that jacket_  
  
“Mor says we will go to the Night Court in a few days, maybe earlier.” she says, taking little bites of some biscuits this damned place has summoned out of thin air.  
Nesta doesn’t eat, can’t do it, the taste is too much, feels like ash on her tongue, tastes like years of hunger and anger.  
  
“Do you want to go?” she asks, and Elain looks down, her eyes moving towards her room, to where that jacket lies, and nods.  
  
Nesta closes her eyes for a moment, breathes, buries the pain that feels like a weight on her shoulder blades, _it is her choice_.  
She doesn’t answer, her eyes drifting to the window, looking at nothing.  
“Maybe it will be good, for both of us, and-” there’s that sound, that excited giggle, again, that thing, again, and as flowers and leaves grow out of Elain’s hands, she smiles, smiles like the day when that Morrigan told her that this was her _gift_.  
  
No, Nesta wants to say, to roar, _this isn’t normal, this isn’t a gift, this-  
isn’t human.  
_  
“Nesta, look!” Elain looks so happy, so at ease, so quickly and Nesta wants to- wants to feel something, at least for her, but the water is still so deep and-  
No. She’s not in there, she’s not drowning, there’s no blood on the floor, it’s in the past, she survived, they both did.  
  
Sometimes Nesta wakes in the middle of the night and sees the King’s blood on her hands, as if she has dug her way into his ribcage to carve his heart out with her bare hands and she feels so complete and so empty at the same time and she doesn’t know what is worse.  
  
Nesta hears the sound before the Fae appears and it’s like an explosion in her head, the loud booming makes her eyes go wide and for a second she just wants to hide.  
But she doesn’t, she turns her head and looks at Morrigan, at the dark circles under her eyes, her blonde hair, her strange clothing.  
“Good evening,” she says, her voice cheerful, but there’s something in it, a note of pain that makes Nesta wonder whom she is trying to fool.  
“Hello, Mor.” Elain answers, her voice happy but cautious, and as she turns to talk to the Fae, it’s just a moment, a moment and her hair moves and her ears, her ears, the proof of how Nesta wasn’t enough, of how her screaming, her fighting, they all weren’t enough.  
Nesta turns, closing her hands in fists until it hurts, trying to rein in her emotions, the whirlwind that is tearing her apart, stronger and stronger with each passing day.  
  
And this place, she hates it, loathes it. It can’t give you what you want, it couldn’t give her what she needed, as she stood in front of a mirror those first days, and she-she just wanted something, a knife, a pair of scissors, anything to make her ears round again, normal, anything to give her some semblance of humanity again, but there was nothing, not in the cupboard, not in the drawers, nowhere.  
  
 _But he has round ears, too_  
  
The mirror was in so many pieces after that, there was no hope of ever repairing it, and for every single day that the house put it together, she broke it and broke it and broke it, until one day all that was left of it were little pieces on the floor.  
  
“Nesta? Nesta, did you hear? We’re going to the Night Court.”  
“ _No_ ,” fury hits her like a wave, uncontrollable, absolute, stronger than she is.  
  
 _No, no, no_.  
  
She will not go there, will not move, will not leave, will not-  
  
“Being closed here will not help, Nesta. And besides, Feyre asked me, and I will do as she says.” Nesta turns, she feels every part of her body shift to something hard and cold “My sister has no right to make this decision for me and I’m not taking orders from her. Or from you.”  
Nesta feels Elain’s gaze begging her to calm down, as always, to control her emotions, but Nesta just can’t.  
“Your sister is my _High Lady_ and my _friend_. She just wants you to be safe, Nesta.”  
Nesta feels the venom rising up in her throat, the bitter and familiar burn of it, “Of course,” she says, “it worked so well the last time _you and your people wanted to keep us safe.”_  
She sees the hurt, sees as Morrigan takes a step back.  
And Elain, with daisies wrapped around her fingers, she takes Mor’s arm, a reassuring smile on her lips, “We are still very shaken because of what happened. I hope you’ll understand.”  
The fae nods, her eyes shifting to Nesta, looking at her like she’s a child.  
Nesta turns, her eyes drifting, her mind reeling.  
In the Night Court, there’s-  
She doesn’t want to go, but it’s one step closer to the King, one step closer to making him feel what she has felt, what they’ve all felt, and to knowing what happened to her sister.  
  
But she wants it-she needs it to _be her choice_.  
  
“So what happens once we’re there?” she doesn’t look at Elain, but she can feel her smile.  
It doesn’t warm her like it used to.  
“Whatever you want. You will be free to roam as you please. We could go shopping, buy some dresses. Something new.”  
Elain smiles and asks of flowers, of dresses the color of the falling leaves in autumn, and Nesta’s fingers shake, going up and down on her gown, thinking of those dresses, the dresses that were in her wardrobe, at home, those pieces of fabric that were so important and yet so frivolous. She remembers her Mother’s words, how she thought a lady should always be well dressed in order to find a suitable husband; and now all those dresses, all those words, they will only gather dust, a distant reminder of the life they once had.  
Morrigan clasps her hands, and the sound makes Nesta jump. The Fae looks at her, something like concern passes on her face, in her brown eyes.  
The Fae takes Elain’s hand and stretches out her arm to Nesta and she sees the other Fae, his pointed ears, gripping her arms and dragging her out of her bed, the fear, the panic-  
  
No, she’s choosing this, she’s choosing to go with this Morrigan, _it’s_ _her choice_.  
  
She doesn’t take Morrigan’s hand, but she gets closer, close enough for the Fae to do that trick of hers and in that moment, all she sees is the starry night sky.

 


	3. Chapter 3

There are times when pain is the only thing he can feel.

The healers said that the anesthetic might, in the long run, slow the healing process and he begged, _begged_ them to stop giving it to him.

But this pain-

Cassian has been wounded, tortured, nearly bled to death, but none of it is even an inkling of what he feels now.

His whole body is boiling, sweat covering his skin and his wings-

he feels every little stitch in the membrane, the burn and stretch of it, feels the bandages all around his torso, tight enough to stop his breath, but not tight enough to keep him together.

He sees the shadow before he sees his brother and the look on Azriel’s face is more than Cassian can take in this moment.

His brother moves as if every motion causes him pain, as if Cassian is made of glass.

He sits on the chair at the side of the bed and his scarred hands move like he wants to grip Cassian’s hand, but thinks better of it, uses his hands to hide his face.

“You shouldn’t have done it.” he says, and Cassian wishes he had the strength to punch him.

“Don’t-” Cassian starts, but a wave of pain cuts his breath, makes him hide his face in the pillow and _scream_.

Azriel moves, gripping Cassian’s forearm, and his voice is full of emotion when he says “I’ll find a way, brother. I’ll find a way.”

Cassian turns his head and sees the shadows swirling, the opening and closing of his brother’s hand.

He wants to speak, wants to reassure Azriel, tell him it will be alright, that he doesn’t need to do anything stupid, the healers know what they are doing, but he can’t find his voice, can’t move his tongue- it _hurts_ , everything _hurts_.

He’s not even able to reassure his own brother.

Azriel stays while Cassian drifts in and out of consciousness, the pain shutting down everything, and when he finally wakes up he’s alone in the room, dreading and hoping for the moment the healers will come and he can’t help but hope, hope that something changed, hope that somehow things got better.

So he waits for the scent of medicine to fill the room, breathing through his nose for just a second, as little as he can, but-but that’s’ not the healer’s scent, it’s

_it’s her, it’s her, it’s her_

it’s the scent of fresh forged iron and of a cold winter breeze, it’s the scent of his dreams and his nightmares

_it’s Nesta_

he tries to rise, thinking of all the things he wants to say to her, _I’m_ _sorry, I’m so sorry, I failed you, will never happen, it will never happen again_ , but he can’t move, he can’t move, can’t even raise himself on his arms that he falls on the bed, his body shaking and he has never felt more defeated in his life.

He thinks of her eyes, of her golden brown hair, of the way she moved, and that pull, the pull he felt for her is now so strong it feels like she’s tied to his blood, to his flesh and bones, to the very core of him.

Cassian wants to go to her, to walk and walk until they are face to face, until he can see her lovely face, the strong lines of it and beg her for forgiveness, he would fall to his knees, everything, _everything_ , as long as she doesn’t hate him, as long as she doesn’t resent him even if he deserves it, even if she has every right to hate his guts, _he couldn’t bear it_ , not from _her_ , not now, not ever.

But-

He can’t go to her, he-

What will she see? A male stranded to a bed, not even able to walk on his own two legs, not able to breathe her in without breaking, a male who can’t fly, a male who can’t-

He feels shame and guilt and he can’t help but picture those gray eyes looking down at him, the hate in her stare, the utter cold.

“ _Nesta_ ”, he whispers her name, cradling it on his lips, hoping that it will be enough to make her appear because hate, condemnation and all the venom of her words would be better than not seeing her at all, better than her absence, better than not having the chance to say how sorry he is, she has to know,  he needs her to know, but-

he doesn’t want her to see him like this.

He-

he just-

just wants-

“ _Nesta_.”


	4. Chapter 4

Nesta looks at the wide, midnight sky, at  the lights over Velaris,  at the most beautiful city she has ever seen.

Not that she was ever able to see much outside of their little village, even if she wanted to.

 

From her window, she can hear the laughter coming from the streets, just as well as she can hear Elain tossing and turning in her bed,  even if she said a sweet, yawning _goodnight_ to Nesta several hours ago.

 

It took a while, but Nesta knew Elain needed to talk about Graysen, about the future she might have had, about the life that vanished like smoke in front of her eyes; but Elain, Elain _smiled_ , grasping the jacket of that red haired Fae, and that smile, that smile makes Nesta remember how she shoved him, thinking that Elain would only be in danger, but maybe, from now on, if Nesta shoved him away it would be as if she shoved away her sister, too.

 

Nesta turns to look at the chimney, at the fire burning, and the dancing of the flames that as always calms down the roaring in her head, soothes her like nothing ever did and she hopes it can calm whatever is wrong with her- this, this feeling out of place that she feels.

It’s not only for the Night Court, not only for this whole place that is so strange, it’s _more_ , it’s as if a part of her, but _outside_ of her, is calling, pulling at her heart, at her veins, at everything that she is, and she thinks-

Her thoughts make no sense, have no logic, and they make her feel more than she ever did and it’s always _him, him, him_.

She remembers with painful clarity everything that happened in Hybern, everything,but the moment that wave of power engulfed him and his wings-she doesn’t know, didn’t ask what happened to them or, or to him, she couldn’t, she tried, but the words got  stuck in her mouth.

 

She walks to the fire, sits in front of the earth and the warmth-

it reminds her of him.

It reminds her of her hand on his chest, of his fingers brushing her cheek-his touch gentle, so incredibly gentle and in that moment, that touch,the promise he made her, the sincerity in his voice-

It was more than she could take and she had-she had to look away, focus on those Queens because the hazel in his eyes was burning her alive.

 

And she tried, she tried to not think of him, all this time, because when she started, she couldn’t seem to stop.

The way he-how he turned to shield the other Fae, Azriel, without a thought for himself, that scream-

she remembers. She remembers it all.

She closes her eyes, her hand closed into a fist in front of her mouth

 

_there’s no water in her lungs, there’s no water, there’s no-_

 

Her eyes are burning, and she should- she should sleep, there’s no use in staying up all night,  it won’t bring her anything.

 

But she-she’s scared of closing her eyes, _she will drown, she will drown, she will drown_ ,  she will hear the water splashing under Elain’s feet, she will see the despeartion in Feyre’s eyes, she will hear his scream-

 

Her hands go in her hair, pulling-she can’t behave like this, like a child, there’s no point.

 

She gives one last look to the fire, feeling that pull, harder, sharper,  like someone is calling her name, but the voice is too low, like a whisper, and she-

she wants to answer.

 

 

 

 

She wakes up at with the first rays of the sun, Elain’s face in front of hers and she’s uttering that name under her breath, _Lucien_ , and Nesta knows she’s dreaming and it seems like a beautiful dream, because Elain smiles, a tiny smile and Nesta can’t believe it, they saw each other for just a moment, was it enough for that mating bond to do whatever kind magic it implied? How does it work? Does- _does it call to you?_

 

Nesta gets out of the bed so fast her head spins and the floor is too cold under her feet, like it never was

 

_it’s not normal, it’s not right_

 

She walks out of the room, traces the corridors, looks at each of the doors, at the intricate drawings on the walls and this place;

this is Feyre’s _home_.

 

Nesta arrives in the main room and food appears on the table as fast as a blink and she jolts back, surprised. She can’t help but wonder if she will ever get used to this,

 

_no, no, no, don’t, don’t eat, don’t let them win_

 

this voice, the same voice in the back of her head all her life, her lifeline, her rage.

 

Of what use would it be now? Where would it lead her? Of what use was it to her in all this years? 

 

Who is she without it?

 

“Good Morning, Nesta.” she doesn’t need to turn to acknowledge the voice, it’s the tiredness in it, the sadness.

“It’s hardly morning.” she answers, turning to face Rhysand, half the man he was when she saw him in her home.

 

She wonders if Feyre took a part of him with her.

 

He chuckles, like he expected  that kind of reaction from her, and she moves to the other end of the room, making the table stand between them.

She turns to face him, her finger running over the edge of a glass as she asks “How is my sister?”

“So what Mor said is the truth.” he answers and her eyes snap to him and just when she is about to tell him that he did not answer her question, he says “There’s no smell coming off of you, and I can’t get into your mind. It irks me, especially this early in the morning.”

She opens her mouth and she feels the rage rising only at the thought that he _tried_ to get inside her head.

“ _How dare you_.” she says, her voice low and growling and he looks at her, his expression serious, looks her up and down and Nesta _hates him_.

“How is my sister?” she asks again, eager to get out of this room.

He passes his hands on his tunic, as if to clean it from an invisible stain “She is well.”is all he says, and Nesta wants to know more, wants to-but it’s a second, a swirling of shadows, and he’s no longer there.

 

The glass in Nesta’s hand breaks.

 

Blood drips from her palm and soaks through the blue tablecloth, painting it black.

She presses her other hand on the wound, trying to calm her breathing, it’s nothing, it’s nothing, is just a stupid wound, it’s nothing, _nothing_.

 

Nesta searches for a place to clean her wound, a place to get air into her lungs, a place out of here because this isn’t-she shouldn’t be able to break a glass with her bare hands, she _wasn’t_ -she _isn’t_ strong enough, it’s impossible, it’s impossible.

 

She sees a door and the scent of fire and air pulls her through, she will be _safe_ there, she will-

when she opens the door, she sees _him_ hoisting himself up on his arms, his wings covered in bandages, his eyes wide and wild, going to her hand to her face and back again.

 

_Cassian, Cassian, Cassian_

 

She turns, runs through the corridor and to her room to find Elain awake and she can barely hear her over the frantic beat of her heart, over the voice in her head that screams his name

_Cassian, Cassian, Cassian_

“Nesta, are you hurt? Is that _blood_?” she looks at her sister, at her soft brown eyes and when Elain takes the edge of the bed sheet and rips the fabric, the sound of it-it’s too loud, the _tearing-_

 

Now, now she can only hear someone screaming, and she wants them to _stop, stop, stop_ and her knees hurt as if she fell, but she didn’t, she didn’t, she didn’t

 

_make the screaming stop, make it stop, please_

 

Someone moves toward her, all flowers and kindness, and then stops, because the room is on fire, it must be, she smells it, feels the reassuring warmth of the flames all around her, but-

but it’s not fire, not only fire, it’s blood and bandages and air and earth and wings and now she finally can breathe.


	5. Chapter 5

The scent of her blood is the most horrible scent to ever fill his lungs;

it screams _wrong, wrong, wrong-_

_Why is she bleeding?_

_What happened?_

_Who hurt her?_

He will go to her, he doesn’t care how, if he has to crawl to her he will, he will, he will not leave her side until he knows she’s alright, until her wounds are closed, until there is no blood on her perfect skin.

But then her scent, the cold winter wind of her, it gets closer and closer and he tries to raise, again and again, to get to her, to meet her halfway- and he can’t help but think that he should cover himself, cover the mess he has become from her eyes- but when she finally opens the door he sees the panic, the utter fear on her face-and her _face_ , Mother, her face and everything of her is so _perfect_ , it’s like a blow to his heart, it robs him of his breath,- and the blood dripping down her hand, the red on her dress and he wants to go to her, he needs to, he-

He sees as Nesta takes a step back, and then another and then she _runs_ , runs out of the room and even if every movement is like a dagger slicing up his wings and his back, he moves until he stands on his own two legs, his hand braced on the bed for support.

Cassian tries to calm his breath, to put those centuries of training to good use and not fall in the middle of the corridor, because he _will_ go to her, he _will_ help her and even if she tells him to go to hell, he _will_ try.

But then he feels something, just a moment, like the ripping of fabric, stitch after stitch after stitch and it’s horrible and cruel and-

And that’s when the screaming starts.

He can’t bear it, he can’t hear it, he can’t hear the desperation in her voice, how it _cracks_ and it takes a second and he is already in the corridor, wincing at the pain, his hands on the walls for support and he will make it, he will not fail her again, _he will not_.

When he enters the room he sees Elain, her face confused and worried, holding a broken cloth in her hands and she looks at him, but he-

Cassian looks at Nesta, at his pillar of ice and steel curled on the ground, her hands fisted in her golden brown hair, her breathing ragged between her screams and he moves, he goes to her, he can’t help it, every movement of his body feels as natural as breathing, as _flying_.

He lowers himself, takes her in his arms and she moves with him and he can’t but feel that this isn’t _right_ , to see her like this, like she’s too tired, too frightened and exhausted to fight.

It _hurts_ him, makes him want to cry and rage at fate.

But she, she moves again, hides her face in his chest and screams on his skin and he wishes he could absorb her pain and make it his.

She stops abruptly and breathes him in and he knows she realized it’s him, he knows she will move away and take a piece of him with her and hate him even more, and Cassian tries to prepare himself for it but her scent-

_Nesta, Nesta, Nesta_

he wants to hide his face in the crook of her neck again, never let go, never let go of her because she’s so close and her smell is so strong it settles within him, entwines to his core and when her hands grip his tunic he can’t help himself, he can’t, he _breaks_

_“I have failed you, I am sorry, I am so sorry, I-it will never happen again, I swear it, please, if- if you could forgive me, please, I-I can-”_

He holds her closer and closer until there’s no space between them and every part where their bodies touch feels like a forest fire on his skin and she-she holds him right back and it’s more than he can take because it tastes of forgiveness and he _sobs_ , for her life, for her fear, for his broken body.

She isn’t screaming anymore.

Cassian sees a movement, hears voices and he raises his eyes when he hears the Healer speaking, and he sees Mor and Amren with the Fae who smells so much like that damned room that Cassian can barely stand the scent of him.

And all of them are looking at Cassian like he is completely out of his mind.

“Let her go and go back to bed, _now_.” Mor says and the Healer nods in agreement, but he only tightens his grip on Nesta, his nose buried in her hair.

_he can’t let her go, he can’t, how can they ask that of him_

Mor looks at Amren, but the ancient one is looking at something else, not quite at them, and she _smiles_ , doesn’t look back in Mor’s direction.

So Mor makes a step toward them, huffing in frustration, as if she will physically divide them if it will bring him back to the Healer’s room.

She takes a step and another and Cassian is on the verge of growling at her when she stops, her face a mask of confusion.

She tries again, only to bounce back, and Amren laughs, a low and guttural sound.

“The girl created a shield,” she says, and looks to Mor “good luck trying to get them out of there.” and just like that, she goes out of the room, but looks at them one last time.

Mor looks at the Healer, but is Elain who speaks “Just give my sister time to calm down, please. I will call you as soon as she does so.”

He looks at Elain and he hopes she knows how grateful he is.

“So, a shield? You really don’t want me to get out of here, do you.” he whispers to Nesta, his lips moving on the crown of her head and when her hand moves to the nape of his neck, bringing him closer, he hears a word loud and clear, booming in his mind

_“No”_

it echoes in his head and it is her voice and he can’t help but notice how delusional he is, to imagine such things.

He moves his fingers up and down her back, trying to soothe her, to calm her, because even if he can’t bear the idea of letting her go, seeing her like this is even worst; he hears her breathing as it returns to normal, as her heart stops beating frantically against her ribcage and it returns to its quiet rhythm and when she moves he tries to stop himself from holding her again, to keep her close to him but when she looks at him, the look in her eyes-

“Elain, call the Healer.” Nesta says, her voice hoarse and her eyes still locked in his and her hand, her hand moves, cradles the side of his face and he leans in the touch, helpless.

He knows that no matter what happens, war or death, he will never forget this, her touch on his skin, the look in her eyes.

Cassian can’t look away and when her thumb brushes his cheek he breathes her in one more time and holds her closer, no matter how much the movement might hurt, because he knows that the Healer is about to arrive and he doesn’t want this moment to end but the moment Elain, who he didn’t even notice got out of the room, comes back with the other Fae, Nesta gets up and turns to her sister and his hands and arms and everything he is can’t help but try to follow her.

She doesn’t turn to him but as the Healer helps him up and leads him out of the room he feels her eyes on him, on every move he makes, even when he is out of the room and back on that damned bed _he feels her and feels her and feels her._


	6. Chapter 6

She still feels his arms around her.

For Nesta, it’s like Cassian never left the room.  
  
His scent is all around her, sticking to her clothes, to her hair, to every inch of this room, to the world.  
  
She looks at her palm, not a trace of the wound left.  
  
Nesta closes her eyes; she should be asleep, but she can’t and it’s not-not because of her new life- like it has been for all this time since Hybern, not because of her rage or because of the bite of anger in her stomach, it’s because-  
  
it’s because she can’t stop thinking about him.  
  
And it’s neither _cold_ nor _hateful_ , both feelings she is used to, it’s- it’s _warm_ and _grateful_ and she doesn’t know what to do with it.  
  
“Nesta? Are you awake?” Nesta nearly jumps at the soft sound of Elains voice.  
Her sister moves and comes near her and Nesta wants to move away, but doesn’t.  
“Are you thinking of him? Of Cassian?”  Elain whispers, her voice tentative and gentle like she’s dealing with a scared child.  
  
Nesta doesn’t turn to look at her sister, doesn’t answer, she just clenches her fists until it hurts.  
  
Elain takes a deep breath, as if she doesn’t know if she should press the matter or not, and Nesta hopes her sister will just go back to sleep.  
  
But her sister moves closer and Nesta can feel Elain’s eyes on the side of her face.  
  
“I saw him, in Hybern,” at those words Nesta turns sharply to look at Elain, _fear_ poisoning her heart and two words on the tip of her tongue  
  
 _shut up  
  
shut up  
  
shut up_  
  
“It was just a moment but I-I saw as he tried to move; _to get to you_.”  
  
Nesta looks at Elain, at her soft brown eyes and her throat burns with words and words,  
  
 _why are you telling me this?  
  
it doesn’t matter  
  
you’re lying  
  
I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care  
  
liar, liar, liar_  
  
but Nesta can’t move and breathe and think.  
It’s too much, more than she deserves and she-  
  
Cassian kept her together when she was breaking and now-  
What did she do for him? What did she do to deserve all of this?  
Is it the promise he made? Does he feel obliged to do all of this?  
  
She screws her eyes shut for a moment, trying to not think of his apology, of the way his voice broke because _it hurts, it hurts, it hurts_.  
  
And Nesta, she wants to scream because a part of her- childish and stupid and cruel- hopes it’s not only that, not only that promise, hopes there’s something more, something that will explain the ache in her chest, like a fresh wound, like nothing she has ever felt, like need and affection and-  
  
She knows it’s not only her body he wants, not like all the men in her life that made her lips curl in disgust, she knows that Cassian wants more and that scares her so much because she knows, _she knows_.  
  
Nesta looks at her sister now and there’s a soft smile on Elain’s face, like she already knows what’s haunting her older sister and Nesta can’t help but notice how this is the first time she and Elain have a conversation like this, the first time that her sister, the sister she always tried to protect, to shield from the world, tries to talk to her of such matters and Nesta doesn’t see a child, not her little, innocent sister, but a young woman, an equal.  
  
She doesn’t know why it leaves the taste of pride and loss on her tongue.  
  
“Goodnight, Nesta,” Elain mutters and shifts to hide under the covers, soon to be asleep.  
  
  
  
Nesta closes her eyes, opens them, stares at Elain’s hair, at the ceiling, the wall, and closes her eyes so tightly she sees white dots like stars on the inside of her eyelids.  
  
She _thinks of him and thinks of him and thinks of him,_ of his voice, of his hands, of his skin, of the way he makes her lose control, of the way he put her back together.  
  
 _He tried to save her_.  
  
She wraps her arms around herself, trying to replicate his warmth, to feel as whole as she did in his arms, but in vain; she feels hollow now, and she wants to hate him, to _break him_ for it, for taking a part of her with him and leaving her empty.  
  
And the more time passes, the more unbearable it becomes, the way her skin aches with the memory of him, makes her want to crawl out of her own flesh.  
  
Nesta hides her face in the pillow, her hands gripping the fabric like she’s falling from the edge of the world.  
Why did he try to save her? Why? With his wings shredded and his family in such a vulnerable position, why did he try to go to her?  
  
She-Nesta doesn’t deserve it, like she didn’t deserve his promise, so why did he do it? Why can he, and only he, look right through her like her-like her walls are only glass and why couldn’t she stay away from him, those hazel eyes drawing her in like a moth to a flame.  
  
And in his arms, Nesta felt at peace for the first time since she was turned into, into this _thing_ , or, if she has to be sincere with herself, since ever.

  
And only the thought of it makes her hate how vulnerable he makes her feel- Nesta wants to cling to her anger, because it’s something she knows, and no matter how much it hurts her or those around her, it is safe, unlike the voice that screams at her to cling to _him_.  
  
She wants that voice to disappear forever.  
  
And that thing, that shield she created, growing from her chest and all around them, with the sole purpose of keeping him near her, to never let him go, it was the proof of the monster she now is, of how unnatural she became and of how-  
  
of how much she wants him.  
  
It crushes her, this need of him, makes her do things she never would have done, like tipping up her chin to him, _for him_ , exposing her throat to Cassian, digging her fingers in his leathers to keep him close- she has never done something like that, she never allowed herself such vulnerability, not even with Tomas, because he was just another man, just someone who could keep her from starving, and Nesta remembers how wrong he felt, how his touch made her want to wash her skin for days and days, how his fingertips on her skin left her feeling unclean, like all the men that looked at her like she was a piece of meat at the market.  
  
But not Cassian.  
There was something else in his eyes, something that she didn’t know, something stronger and deeper.  
  
And she can’t-she can’t think of him in that room, alone, in pain, only the thought of it makes her ribcage close in on her, makes it feel like a cage.  
  
She _can’t, can’t, can’t_  
  
Nesta moves, and the cold of the pavement under her naked feet brings her back to reality and she tries to clear her head, breathing deeply.  
  
She looks at Elain one last time, at her sleeping form, trying to make no sound.  
  
There’s a fire in the pit of Nesta’s stomach and it burns more brightly than she can bear because she doesn’t understand it, she can’t hide it and she can’t extinguish it and it doesn’t decrease, it burns and burns and it engulfs her and she wants to get lost in it, like when she was just a little child and would sit in front of the fire for hours, watching the flames dance, or when they were in that damned hovel, when the fire was the only thing keeping her alive, the only thing giving her some semblance of warmth.  
  
She walks out of the room, looking at the light of the moon on the corridor as she walks faster and faster.  
  
She is in front of that room again, Cassian’s room, and she grips the handle so strongly her knuckles become white and she feels fear pooling in her gut as she starts to lower it, but thinks better of it; she knocks, as lightly as she can because she doesn’t want to startle him or-or to wake him if he’s sleeping she just-  
  
If he’s going to save her every time, she will do her best to deserve it, _she will_ -  
  
No words come from him but Nesta feels something, like a sharp tug right in the middle of her chest pulling her forward and she lowers the handle: the room is dark, the only source of light is the moonlight coming through the tiny window but even if she can’t see him, she knows that Cassian is awake.  
  
She moves slowly, her eyes adjusting to the darkness quicker than they should, and she sits on the chair in front of him, her chin high, her back straight, her hands trembling.  
  
Nesta can feel Cassian’s eyes on her and she’s glad of the darkness, but he moves, his arm going so near her that she holds her breath and as his fingers touch the candle on the nightstand a flame rises and she looks at him, at the utter surprise painted on his face, like he can’t believe she’s here.  
  
She looks back at him and she realizes that she never said his name, not out loud, only said it inside of her head, locked away in her heart.  
  
Nesta looks at him, her hands closed into fists around the fabric of her nightgown and whispers  
  
“ _Cassian_ ”  
  



	7. Chapter 7

He hears her footsteps just outside the room, coming _closer, closer, closer_.  
  
Cassian’s body tenses, his mind a chaos of things he wants to tell her, but all words escape him when he hears the tiniest movement coming from her  
  
 _come in, come in, come in_  
  
He doesn’t speak, not even when he hears a soft knock at the door, the impact of her knuckles on the wood, he doesn’t trust his voice, because he knows that he will only beg her to open the door, to walk inside, to be with him.  
  
So he doesn’t speak.  
  
But he wants her near with everything he is and Cassian hopes she can feel it, in some way, and he hopes that she feels at least a fraction of what he feels, even if it’s just a spark buried in the middle of her chest.  
  
The air stops in his throat as the door slowly opens and he sees her.  
  
Nesta doesn’t stop on the door, she walks toward him and he can’t think, he breathes only to fill his lungs with her scent.  
She sits on the chair right in front of him and her scent engulfs Cassian, leaving him with the need of drowning in the cold winter of her.  
  
But he wants to see her, wants to see the expression on her face, the striking color of her eyes; and even if his arm is numb after so many hours of not moving a muscle, he moves, and as his fingers graze the candle on the nightstand and a flame is born at the contact, he looks at her, looks at her perfect face and she looks right back at him.  
  
He hears the rustling of the fabric between her fingers, but his eyes can’t look away, his eyes trapped in hers.  
  
But then her lips part and he prepare himself for the venom that will inevitably come out of her perfect lips.  
There’s a stunned look on Nesta’s face, even if just for a moment, like she has just realized something incredibly important and-  
  
“ _Cassian_ ”  
  
It’s just a whisper, his name on her lips, and he wants to beg her to say it again, to call his name again and again and again. It is like his name wasn’t a real thing until it came from her mouth.  
  
“Sweetheart”, he answers, trying to pull himself together.  
  
She sits even straighter at the sound of that and her posture makes her look like a perfect statue carved in ice.  
  
“How can I help you?” she asks through gritted teeth. There’s no sympathy in her voice, just a coldness that makes it seem like she practiced the words until there was no life in them, but her eyes…  
  
Her eyes always told Cassian more than her voice would ever do.  
  
Cassian tries to move, to face Nesta properly but a sharp pain stops him and he sees it, even if it’s just for a moment, sees the crease between her brows, sees the look on her face before she schools her features into her mastered neutral expression.  
  
And Cassian, he wants so much from Nesta without even knowing why; he wants, he wants _everything_ , but not her damned _pity_.  
“It isn’t pity”, she snarls, like she knows exactly what he is thinking.  
“Then what is it?” he asks, unable to stop himself.  
Nesta looks away, her eyes drifting around the room.  
“It’s the right thing to do.” she answers, her tone final, closing the discussion with her sentence.  
  
And he doesn’t know why, but he can’t let it go like this and he can’t stand the tension, the heavy silence between them and he knows, _he knows_ that she is the only one that can make him feel something other than pain, the only one that can make him feel something greater than the heart-shattering fear that plagues him.  
  
“And what do you think is the right thing, Nesta?” he makes her name roll off his tongue slowly, savoring every letter of it. She turns to look at him, taken aback by the question, like she expected him to accept what she said and stay silent.  
  
“You helped me. I don’t see why I can’t return the favor.”  
  
Cassian doesn’t say to her that he didn’t help her because he _wanted_ to, but because he _needed_ to.  
  
Maybe it’s the tone of her voice, the complete absence of emotion in it or the way she is hidden behind her damned walls, but it makes him want to get a rise out of her, makes him want to see those lovely claws of hers, even if she will slash his face.  
  
“You told me that I know nothing of you, of who you are and what you want. Then tell me, Nesta Archeron. _What do you want?_ ”  
  
Her hands are gripping the armrest of the chair so tightly her knuckles are white; a very pissed Queen upon her throne.  
  
“It is none of your concern-” she starts, every word coming out of her lovely mouth bathed in anger, but a knock on the door stops her.  
  
The Healer, a female this time, enters the room, her eyes moving to him and Nesta, and Cassian notices that the sun is finally up, the room full of light which neither of them had noticed.  
  
“Do I disturb, General? I can come back when your friend-”  
“ _I am not his friend._ ” Nesta answers, her voice low and guttural.  
  
And Cassian can’t help but laugh, laugh at how stubborn she is, at the angry look on her face, he laughs for the first time in weeks.  
  
“Would you like to be something more, sweetheart?” she doesn’t turn to him, doesn’t answer, her eyes on the Healer, but he knows from the strong set of her jaw that she heard him and he can’t help the smirk that grows on his face.  
  
And then Nesta moves and his heart stops beating, the fear that she will walk away and never look back _crushing_ him.  
But Nesta walks to the Healer until her and the other Fae are face to face and says, every word strong and bold, “Tell me what to do to help him.”


	8. Chapter 8

_Would you like to be something more, sweetheart?_

Those words, those stupid, stupid words have been haunting her mind for hours, followed by the sound of Cassian’s laughter.

She grinds the herbs with too much force and she can hear the wooden pestle creaking against the ceramic bowl.

“Could-could you please grind them down a bit more gently, please?” Edna -the Healer- says and Nesta grinds her teeth and tries to do as she’s told.

She’s the one who asked to help the Healer after all.

“I’m happy that he is reacting, at last. It will help immensely with the healing.” Edna says, trying to start a conversation Nesta has no interest in.

“He’s strong, but Illyrians can react in the most horrible ways when their wings are threatened.”

At that Nesta looks up at the Fae.

If Nesta should use one word to describe Edna it would be _gentle_ , but not the kind of gentleness that reminds her of Elain; a gentleness that’s been forged by a different kind of struggle, a stronger type of kindness.

Edna passes a hand through her short black curls, and Nesta tries to find the words, tries to find a friendliness she never had.

“What do you mean?” she asks, and she hates how uncertain her voice sounds.

“Oh, well, this-this isn’t a nice first conversation to have.” Edna says with a little nervous laugh and Nesta knows that whatever it is that _his_ people do, it really saddens the Fae.

“It happened, especially in the last war, that some Illyrians lost their wings. And as soon as that happened, they didn’t want to live. No matter how much we Healers tried to help them or how much their loved ones begged, losing their wings is too much of a dishonor for them and the burden to be earthbound is too much for them to bear.”

Nesta can feel her blood grow cold at the words, so cold it almost hurts.

“He wouldn’t.” she says “Cassian wouldn’t. He’s-he’s not-”

Edna takes her hand, a gentle smile on her lips and Nesta fights the urge to remove her fingers from the gentle grasp, “I bet he will not do something stupid like that. I know the Commander, he’s full of life.” her smile broadens and she says, a slight blush on her full cheeks “And not now that you’re here.”

At that Nesta moves back, shocked by the words.

“What do you mean?” she asks, trying to hide her surprise behind a cold facade “I doubt my presence makes any difference for him.” her eyes are now looking at the ground, and there’s a part of her that doesn’t want to hear what Edna is about to say.

She’d rather not know and stop this force that pulls her to him right _now_.

“He said your name more times than I can count when he was unconscious. _Nesta_.”

She looks up when she hears her name and she can’t explain the weight in her chest, the burning in her throat and she can’t stop herself from imagining it was Cassian’s voice, the one to say her name.

“Whatever you two are to each other, you mean a lot to him, more than you can imagine, I think. When I told my mate that the Commander of the Night Court muttered a female’s name in his sleep she thought it was incredibly romantic.”

“It isn’t _romantic_. He just feels guilty for things that aren’t his fault.”

Edna is about to answer but an enthusiastic knock on the door stops her.

When Elain opens the door Nesta can barely see her sister, covered as she is in flowers and branches and leaves.

“Here are the flowers! Azriel told me that you needed them.” she says to Edna, and Nesta can’t help but notice the rich orange of Elain’s dress.

“Oh, I do! Thank you very much. You must be Elain, Nesta’s sister.” Elain nods, and the two start a conversation about the flowers that grow in Velaris and Nesta can’t help but feel a little out of place, but she doesn’t move, she sits still, trying to keep her posture in the way she should, with her back straight and her chin high, but she’s _tired_. She barely slept last night, and she’s about to excuse herself when Edna says “Nesta, could please bring this lotion in Cassian’s room? It’s a new one, to prevent infection”

Nesta takes the lotion, asking herself how it was made and with what, but doesn’t ask.

She just goes out of the room, her steps slow, going directly for Cassian’s room, not losing herself in the House of Wind like it often happens to Elain.

He’s in the same position she found him yesterday, but the room is full of light and his eyes are wide open.

She wonders if every time she sees him she will always feel like being in front of a wild, wondrous, beautiful thing.

She wonders if it will always take her breath away like this.

“This is the lotion for your wings.” she says, her words slurred, sleep taking the best of her against her will.

Her heart skips a bit when she notices the bigger, soft looking armchair that replaced the wooden chair at his bedside.

“I figured that if you wanted to keep me company, you might as well be comfortable.” he says, but there’s no smirk upon his face, there’s actually a frown between his brows like he’s waiting for her to shout or sneer.

But Nesta looks at him, looks at Cassian and can’t keep her eyes from wandering on the soft curves of his mouth, at the fullness of his lower lip, at the intense red of it and the sudden heat in her stomach is something that she never felt.

She looks away, sitting on the armchair and she is delighted by how soft it is.

There’s a moment in which she hears her mother words in her head, saying how a lady should always keep her posture as if a thread was attached to her head from the ceiling, and she should always keep herself upright in order to not break the delicate thread.

Her eyes go to Cassian again as she slowly sags into the armchair, feeling her muscles relax inch by inch and she waits, waits for the voice who’ll tell that this isn’t ladylike, waits for her pride, waits for the vulnerable voice that will make her hate herself, but nothing happens.

She doesn’t know why she feels like this, so _at home_ with him, but she does, and in the midst of everything, inside the monster she now is, it makes her… _happy_.

So she decides to move a bit more, taking off her shoes and folding her legs, placing her head on the armrest.

All the while, Cassian doesn’t talk, he just looks, but the gentle smile on his face, the tender look in his eyes-

Nesta feels her eyelids growing heavy, but for some reason, she knows that in this sleep she will not drown.

“Thank you”, she says, and falls asleep.

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Cassian has never watched someone sleep.

When he was young sleep was a luxury and in the army, a nightmare.

He was never a peaceful sleeper, his head resting on the shape of the knife under his pillow, and even with his lovers, there was never the tenderness that he desperately wanted, or the love, but _now._

Nesta sleeps peacefully, her head resting on the armrest, golden hair around her, _so beautiful_ , he thinks, her face relaxed, her breathing deep and even and he wants to touch, to cradle her into his arms, but he can’t move, not now, but someday, he thinks, _someday_.

When he asked Rhys for the armchair he felt foolish, sure that she would snicker at him, goad him, laugh at him, but the gratitude in her eyes…

He knows he loves her.

The future is uncertain, a war is about to begin and he loves Nesta Archeron.

He wants to laugh because the Mother has shit timing, to give him the most beautiful thing in his life when he least deserves it.

He hears the Healer, he knows of the slim chances he has to keep his wings, _his wings_ , his damned wings, the wings that make him who he is, that make him _worthy_ and he has a fucking _slim_ possibility to keep them.

He reaches for Nesta without really noticing, his fingers touching hers and her skin is so soft and cold that he can’t help but link their fingers together, slowly, afraid to wake her and completely lost in the feel of her skin, in the sun on her hair and in the sound of the furious beating of his own heart.

Her eyes open slowly, the blue wrecking him completely and her voice is low and lovely as she says “Your hair is a mess.”

He chuckles, laugh like he can’t help himself and she smiles, just a tiny smile, the tiniest movement upward of her lips but it’s enough for him to forget everything that sits and looms outside of this room.

She stands up, looking at their joined hands and she squeezes her fingers once and he does it too, gently, as if their joined hands could form an unbreakable link.

“I am going to take my comb. I’ll-I’ll be back.” she says, and looks right through him before she’s out of the room and he can’t help but feel the loss between his fingers but he hears her footsteps, at first calm and slow, but then they become quicker and quicker, as if she wants to come back to him as faster as she can but she doesn’t want him to notice and he smiles, feels the red grow upon his cheeks and hides his face in the pillow for a reason that isn’t pain, for once.

_You’re six-hundred_ , he reminds himself, _act like it._

When she comes back there’s a soft looking brush in her hand, and she holds it so tightly to her chest her knuckles are bonewhite.

Nesta sits quietly on the edge of the bed and he moves his face to look at her, at the doubt painted on her features, like she isn’t used to showing such kindness, and she doesn’t know what to do with it.

He tilts his head, the side of his throat bare to her, and he knows she doesn’t comprehend the meaning of this, not now, but he can’t help it.

Nesta moves slowly and Cassian closes his eyes, just to feel the brush between his hair and her hand on him, gentle.

“No one ever brushed my hair.” he says, and she stops, just for a second, and then begins moving again, her touch feather-soft.

“How so?” she asks, whispering like they are sharing secrets.

“My Mother left me in a camp when I was very young and we-we didn’t have the time to-” he clears his throat, trying to keep himself in one piece “to do this kind of things. Didn’t have the opportunity.”

She hums, but he knows she’s thinking of something, maybe at how pitiful his life is, but she just says “I am sorry I called you a bastard. I shouldn’t have.”

He moves his arms to take her hand again, to link their fingers again, and marvels at how _right_ it feels, to have her hand in his.

“No one ever apologized for that.” he says, and she doesn’t answer, but her eyes turn dark.

“And you?” he asks, wanting to know more of her, _everything_ about her “Who combed your hair, Nesta?”

She seems to think about it, like it was so long ago, another life, another person.

“My nanny.” she answers, and there’s a nostalgic tone to her voice, and Cassian grazes his thumb on hers “She was such a lovely woman. My Mother was always busy, never home, always had a party to attend. Sometimes she would bring me with her but I always ran to the nanny to comb my hair, because Mother had no patience and she would always make me cry with her pulling. ” her touch is still gentle, and he wonders how many people know of this, wonders if he’s the only one to know this little secret.

Cassian can’t help but imagine a little Nesta with ribbons in her hair and lovely dresses, hiding in her mansion at the peak of her family’s fortune.

He wants to know what happens after, but he doesn’t ask.

Nesta starts to hum a melody under her breath, a slow, nurturing sound that reminds him of snow, of his Mother, of the little he remembers of her; her black hair and brown eyes, just like him, but he also remembers the tired look of her eyes, her ruined hands and he _tries_ , with the help of Nesta’s quiet song, of her presence, tries to imagine a smile on his Mother’s face, a smile that doesn’t speak of hunger and bitter cold but of a quiet winter.

He kisses Nesta’s palm, but he can’t help the trembling of his lips and she moves, _don’t go, don’t go, don’t go_ , his heart screams, but she just lowers herself, kisses his temple and whispers “I know that she looks over you, one of those starts in this Court. And I know that she loves you and that she’s proud of you. You made her happy, I am sure of that.”

He tries to move and Nesta moves with him as if she knows, as if she knows _everything_ and he hides his face in the crook of her neck and she keeps singing, her fingers in his hair, the comb forgotten.


End file.
